Þrym sits in a chair to the far side of the stage (stage left would be best) with his two guards Left and Right on his sides. The guards should be on their knees, with leashes around their necks. Þrym is petting their heads as though they were dogs. Hey, there’s nothing sexual about it…even though it is funny.  I am just trying to preserve parts of the Þrimskviða here…  you perverts.

Loca enters from the opposite side of the stage, while Left and Right start howling like beasts. Þrym waves his hands and the guards go silent.

Þrym speaks:
Hail to thee, oh friend of Þúnor!
Good I hope the gods do fare
All alone you enter my hall
Fare the Alfs as well as thee?

Loca speaks:
The Alfs I fear are all afraid
We gods are growing worried too
Hymir’s kin, we all can’st see
Has robbed the hero of his club

Þrym speaks:
Eight miles below the middle earth
Þrym did hide poor Þúnor’s hammer
Give it back never, though bid he
Till win I Fréo for my wife!

booing

Þrym then exits the stage, while Loca wraps himself in the cloak once more and flies on back from whence he came.

Fréo and Þúnor enter the stage (preferably stage right) as Loca flies in from the other side. He removes the cloak and gives it to Fréo; the gods eagerly await his news. Loca is panting for breath, and looks exhausted. He tries to sit down but Þúnor stops him.

Þúnor speaks:
Find no seat, nor flop on benches
Lest you tell tall tales well rested
Good news for me, Geirröðr’s[1] bane
Best you have or blows you’ll reap!

Loca speaks:
Eight miles below the middle earth
Þrym did hide poor Þúnor’s hammer
Give it back never, though bid he
Till win he Fréo for his wife!

Bind on Fréo the bridal veil
Fleet we must be to the fiend’s hall
Loca will rest long while you pack
We dare not make her dearest wait!

Loca and Þúnor sit on either side of Fréo and both look at her with anticipation, she turns her head at them and looks confused. The confused look grows to one of anger.

laughing

Fréo speaks:
Slut the gods will say of Fréo
If hammer gets for her love’s gild
Lustful are the looks of etins
Their wanton eyes makes my womb quake

Þúnor speaks:
Together call theTiwar[2] forth
Brains shall we beseech of them
Words we share will seal thy fate
And Hammer once again home bring

Loca goes and grabs Hama and any of the other godly stand-ins and brings them on stage. They all huddle around Fréo and mumble amongst themselves.

Hama speaks:
Me thinks that Þúnor be the one
To fetch the hammer for himself
Bedeck him with Brosinga mene
And bind on him the bridal veil!

laughing

Þúnor speaks:
Argr[3] you would’st all call me
If dress I wore and donned a veil
WigiÞúnor cannot wear it
Woden’s son, a witch they will name!

Loca speaks:
No one will a witch thee name
If Ése garth the etins take
Dress thee now; don’t look so dour
A bitch we have for the bad king!

laughing

Loca helps Þúnor into his wedding gown and off they march to the Etin’s hall while all the gods quietly laugh.